“I don’t…”
“We’re going to have to ask you to leave,” the doctor said. “I’ll call you periodically, throughout the night, but after what happened here this afternoon… well, hospital policy is clear. We can’t allow you to stay.”
My heart literally sank.
“But…” I started to say.
Tough and McClain started forward, and I got the drift very quickly.
“Take care of her,” I ordered Big Papa, gesturing toward Ilsa.
Though, I needn’t have bothered. Ilsa was being looked after by Dixie, of all people. Dixie, a large, older man with a shock of white hair and a matching beard that nearly came all the way down to his chest. He was a member of the Dixie Wardens MC, Benton, Louisiana Chapter. He was one of the funniest guys I knew, and I had not one single worry that he wouldn’t take good care of Verity’s GG while I couldn’t be there with her.
Big Papa nodded and followed me down, Tough and McClain at his side right along with me.
I walked stiffly over to my bike, through the sea of bikers that were still hanging around and mounted it.
When Big Papa went to follow suit, I held up my hand.
“I need some time,” I said gruffly, leaning sideways slightly to kick the stand up.
Big Papa stopped, turned, and studied me.
“I’ll come check on you in a few hours.”
I didn’t bother to reply. I just got on my bike and rode to the only place that felt like her.
Home.
Two hours later, I found myself in the middle of my workshop.
I couldn’t breathe.
Everything was closing in on me, and I could do nothing but stand there in the midst of everything that Verity loved, and…break.
And I did…completely.
So thoroughly, in fact, that I wasn’t sure how many hours had passed as I did so.
The ring of my phone was what broke me out of my thoughts.
I hurried to answer the phone, not caring enough to look to see who it was before I yanked it up and slammed it against my ear.
“How is she?”
“She’s stable…ish,” Big Papa sounded so tired. Not as tired as I felt, though. “I called about Tank. He made it through surgery. Has a broken hind leg and a few cracked ribs. They expect him to make a full recovery.”
Was it bad that I didn’t care?
I should. If it wasn’t for him, who knows if we would’ve found her in time.
But I couldn’t find it in me to scrounge up the urge to give a shit.
Not when my woman had nearly been killed right before my eyes—twice on the same fucking day.
Right in front of my eyes!
My breath was coming in and out of my chest at an accelerated rate, and each time I breathed in, it felt like I was doing it through a straw. My throat was tight, and I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath.
Something clattered to the floor at my feet.
When the hell had I ended up on my knees on the floor?
Judging by the way my legs were tingling as blood flow tried to get to where it needed to go, it’d been a while.
Eyes flicking to the piece of metal that’d fallen, my heart skipped a beat.
It was the pre-cut metal of Verity’s father’s yet-to-be-forged sword.
The one I’d cut before this whole fucking disaster had started.
I leaned forward, closed my fingers around the cool metal, took a few deep breaths and tried to compose myself.
I still couldn’t breathe, but I could focus on this while I tried to pull myself back together.
Getting up, I fired up the forge and shoved the piece of metal into the fire.
After donning my gloves, I picked up my tongs, yanked the metal out of the fire and placed it on the anvil. I picked up my hammer, and proceeded to whack the ever-loving shit out of the metal.
I didn’t know how long it was before the sword finally started to take shape, but I’d just put it back into the fire for round ninety-five when I heard someone’s knock at my door.
Moving to the flimsy door that separated me from the outside world, I came to a halt when I saw her.
“Yes?” I rasped as I opened the door, voice gruff from disuse.
My eyes were blurry.
My body ached.
My head was a pounding mass of flesh that would likely hate me very much the next time I decided to try to sleep, and to put the icing on the cake, I still couldn’t breathe.
Ilsa stared back at me the moment I opened the door, and I couldn’t read her face.
“She’s asking for you.”
The hammer dropped from my hand to the floor, and my body followed it down.
I fell to my knees and stayed there so long that Ilsa placed her hand on top of my sweaty head.
“Hurry,” she ordered. “Go take a shower, and let’s go see her.”
I did as she instructed, and the moment I saw Verity’s eyes on mine thirty minutes later, I found the ability to breathe correctly again.
My heart, however, would never be the same.
Chapter 25
I wouldn’t do anything for a Klondike Bar, but I’d do some sketchy shit for a cup of coffee.
-Text from Truth to Verity
Verity
“You’re fucking crazy,” I told my husband. “Get the hell out of here so I can get dressed.”
“We need to sell one of our houses. Mine is the logical choice.”
His was the logical house to put on the market, but I’d grown to love it here.
“Did you give your dad his sword?” Truth asked, ignoring my instructions and lying down on the bed where all of my clothes were laying.
“Yes,” I grumbled. “You’re on my shirt,” I yanked it out from under his head, causing him to curse. “Does this make me look fat?”
Truth, not a stupid man, denied my words.
“No,” he said. “You’re pregnant…not fat. They’re completely different things.”
That was true.
Apparently, nobody had shared with him that I was pregnant, or me, for that matter. Though, everyone swore they did.
I was chalking it up to my pain killer-induced haze.
Who knew what Truth’s excuse had been.
My lips twitched as I remembered Truth’s reaction to finding out what I suspected to be a pregnancy.
***
“Oh, God,” Truth dropped to his knees beside me, his hand on my back as he ran his large palm up and down the length of my back. “You’re not dying, are you?”
“No,” I said.
It came out more like ‘Nlooogoooooooarghhhhh,’ though as I tried to speak and throw up at the same time.
That was the last time I would ever eat eggs again!
“Then why are you throwing up?” he asked, panicked now.
I gasped.
Then stopped throwing up.
The minute I sat up, I narrowed my eyes at him.
He picked up a piece of toilet paper, wiped my face, and cringed a little before throwing the paper in the toilet and flushing it.
Oh, God. He’d just wiped puke off of my face.
Now that was love.
“We’re getting a divorce,” I decided right then and there.
His brows furrowed.
“What?” he asked in confusion. “Why the hell would we do that?”
“Because I draw the line at you sitting on the floor next to me, wiping puke off my face,” I informed him.